


Better With You

by psyraah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7985206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyraah/pseuds/psyraah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark and he had to help Jean, had to find him—but the ground beneath him wasn’t hard-packed dirt. Gradually, Kain came to realise that there was the soft rub of cotton against his legs. </p><p>And as his eyes adjusted to the dark, Kain saw the terrified face of Jean below him, desperately trying to dislodge Kain’s hand clenched around his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better With You

**Author's Note:**

> For [FMA rarepair week](http://www.fmararepairweek.tumblr.com).

Aerugo had been hell. Kain had enough self-awareness to acknowledge that, and acknowledge that he had come back changed because of it. He hadn’t wanted it. When he’d enlisted, when he’d signed up for the blue and gold, he hadn’t been under any delusions as to the grandeur of war, and had wanted no part in it, thank you very much. He would fix things. That was all. It was what he was good at, and it would be what he would do.

Naïve, his mother had all but said, the first day he’d called back shaken after an emergency in Central had him taking a life. He’d been nineteen, the stars barely settled on his shoulders, and so, so young.

At twenty-two, he hadn’t been much older. But by then, he’d been with his team long enough to learn a lot. Learn from the tired way Hawkeye and Mustang sometimes carried themselves, learn from the game they were constantly playing and the thousand tiny pieces of the grand machinery they were trying to build.

At twenty-two, he had hardened, a little. Still gentle—he worked hard to be so—still loving, still inquisitive. But he had grown a little; it was hard not to with Homunculi flying around and one of your best friends laid up and paralysed in hospital. A Sergeant, having found his little place in that group of misfits under Mustang’s banner, and at twenty-two, he had a home, and a belonging, despite everything.

At twenty-two, they’d sent him to Aerugo.

There were moments in his life that stood out. Enlisting. His first promotion. His first apartment. The offer to join Mustang’s unit.

Aerugo was not a single moment. Aerugo had been an Event. One that divided his life: before, and after. Before, at that point where he’d been handed that innocent-looking envelope with a harmless description—transfer orders. Then, after. After hunger, after dirt, after death, and after a long list of names.

Evelyn Toran: red hair, blue eyes, laughed like a suffocating goat. Bullet through her chest.

Beverley Wittiker: sharp wit, could whistle to fill the air with sweet birdsong that was otherwise missing in the trenches. Infected leg wound.

Jonah Dietrich: the worst hair Kain had ever seen, offered Kain a blue pen once to write back home. Went to the latrine one night, never returned.

Thomas Chang: Kain had been the last to see him, glassy eyes staring skyward, spine arched too far, and red painted across his chest.

Phillip Casseter.

Blond hair. Blue eyes. Smoker.

Phil…had looked a little like Jean. Not entirely, but there was enough of a resemblance there to remind Kain of the friend he’d left behind. The height, the sandy hair—although missing the little streaks of caramel that Jean had—blue eyes that weren’t quite the same shade as Jean’s. But the thing that had kicked it off had been the first day when Kain had arrived and there’d been a razor sharp smile, and the offer of a cigarette.

Kain had gotten to know him, a little, as you knew everyone who was stuck in a muddy trench with you for months on end. Knew that Phil had a sister, knew that his mum had died when he’d been younger. Kain had caught the glint in Phil’s eye every now and again, so he also knew how Phil felt about him after a few weeks spent together. Few people realised that Kain could read people like books, that he knew what it meant when Phil ruffled his hair and a hand lingered on his shoulder for a touch longer than necessary.

And Kain had thought about it. There was enough of a resemblance there, and he didn’t know if he would even get to _see_ Jean ever again, let alone have him to hold and to touch. Maybe Phil would be enough, he found himself thinking every now and again, especially when the nights were cold and muddy and miserable, and home seemed like an impossible goal.

But then Phil would say something, do something, and Kain would be reminded all over again that he just…wasn’t Jean. Regardless of the colour of his hair or the way he smelled of smoke, he didn’t laugh like Jean, big and loud and so wonderfully open. He didn’t have the same off-colour jokes, told with a wink and a smirk and a nudge to the ribs that almost bowled Kain over. Where Jean was soft and serious when there was a job to be done, Phil would be one to joke and laugh to cover his nerves.

All the same, though, all the same, the resemblance was there. Resemblance enough that Kain almost felt himself break the day that Phil died, another day of mud and grit under nails that were too long, fire in the sky, and the sound of drums echoing through his body.

Jean was walking away with a wave of his hand over his shoulder and Kain tried to call out, tried to tell him not to go. Didn’t he know that it wasn’t safe?

But Jean was getting further away and the urgency was starting to rise in Kain’s throat. Something bad would happen. Something bad always happened when they went out alone, even when they didn’t go out alone. His muscles refused to work with him though, much as he tried to fight because if there was someone that Kain would fight every moment for it was Jean, it was a mop of sandy hair slowly bobbing away—

No—

Someone had their arm around Jean’s neck, and Kain could hear the way that he was choking, gasping for air as he called Kain’s name desperately. There was weight on Kain’s wrists but he fought it, tried desperately to get to Jean because they _couldn’t take him_ , of all the things they couldn’t have they couldn’t take him, but Jean’s voice was getting weaker—

“—ain!”

Dark.

Dark and he had to help Jean, had to find him—but the ground beneath him wasn’t hard-packed dirt. Gradually, Kain came to realise that there was the soft rub of cotton against his legs.

And as his eyes adjusted to the dark, Kain saw the terrified face of Jean below him, desperately trying to dislodge Kain’s hand clenched around his throat.

Horrified, Kain shot backwards, scrambling along the bed to the harsh sound of Jean’s coughing tearing at his heart.

“I’m—my god, I—I’m so sorry,” he stammered, heart pounding. “I’m—Jean, I’m sorry.” He reached out, wanting to soothe and comfort—but then snatched his hand back, because _he’d_ hurt Jean. “I’m sorry,” he said hollowly, meaninglessly, hating his skin.

“It’s all right,” Jean said, still coughing a little, sitting up and resisting the urge to massage his throat. “Kain are you—” But Kain had already stumbled off the bed with a thump, and lurched out the bedroom door.

“Wait—Kain!” But there wasn’t any reply. “Fuck.” Jean took a moment to drag some air back into his lungs, to calm his racing heart, which had been going full speed since he’d awoken with a jolt when Kain had pinned him down. Shaken, he drew in a shuddering breath. He could still feel the way Kain’s hand had been tight around his throat, a growling that Jean had _never_ heard before from Kain.

Shaking his head, he blinked in the dark. Where was his damn wheelchair? Shuffling over to the side of the bed, he slid a hand around the bedside table to find the light and flick it on, squinting at the sudden brightness.

Shuffling across the bed with a groan, he seated himself clumsily in the wheelchair, limbs still confused from the early hour. The sheets were twisted where the two of them had hurried away, the light too bright for his eyes which felt gritty with fatigue. But Kain was gone, which meant Jean had to follow, sleep be damned. Kain’s glasses had been left on the bedside table, and Jean grabbed them because his boyfriend was damn near blind without them. Settling them in his lap—bare except for his boxers—he headed towards the door, mind whirring and heart a mess. Kain had looked…lost, in the brief glimpse Jean had gotten of him, with the moonlight faint across his face. No, first he’d been angry. There’d been anger, and a… _viciousness_ that wasn’t usually something that he’d think of when he thought of Kain.

It wasn’t the first time Kain had had a nightmare. But usually, Jean woke up to find Kain curled in tight on himself, clutching at his pillow and sucking in harsh breaths through his teeth. Usually, Jean would just loop an arm gently around Kain’s waist and hold him close, pressed up against his chest, until the frantic pounding of his pulse beneath Jean’s fingertips petered out to something steadier. Then Jean would kiss the back of Kain’s neck where his hair was all fuzzy, and they’d be…all right. They’d wake up groggy and feeling gross the next day, and Kain’s laugh would be a bit too loud, too bright and brittle, but they’d be all right.

This…wasn’t familiar. All of this? Kain’s hand on his throat, _fuck_ , and that panicked strength he’d had when he’d pinned Jean down. Sure, Jean knew that Kain was strong, but it was another thing to actually see him _fight_ like that. Kain fixed stuff. Saved stray dogs, tinkered with the team’s damaged equipment, helped Jean through rehabilitation. There was no way Kain wasn’t…tough, and a little hardened by everything—they _were_ in the army—but Jean didn’t see the steel in him that often. At least, he didn’t see it shine _that_ harshly. And the way he’d _snarled_ in anger, the haunted fear in his eyes when he’d woken, his weight horrible and violent over Jean—

Jean stopped midway to the door.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and took a shaky breath. Fuck. The cold air stung his nostrils, and he yanked at his bangs, trying to calm himself a moment. Kain needed him, but he was useless if he couldn’t stop being so _scared_. Snap _out_ of it, Havoc. Kain needs you. Now.

Steeling himself, Jean made his way outside. Kain didn’t seem to have turned on any lights, and Jean thought he knocked over a shoe or something as he made his way out to their little dining area, but he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care. He needed to find Kain. Little needle points of nerves pricked at his skin, and their place buzzed with silence. Kain’s horrified expression filled his mind again, and he need to find Kain to make him _stop looking like that_.

Wheeling himself slowly, he hesitated next to the kitchen table where Kain’s favourite radio sat, not sure where Kain was.

“Kain?”

Nothing. Sighing, Jean headed towards the bathroom—it wasn’t like the apartment was _that_ big, he’d find Kain eventually.

But then over the creak of his wheelchair, he heard something.

A breath. The rustle of clothes. Jean didn’t know what the fuck it was, but it was Kain, and Jean turned immediately. Hurriedly, he followed the hushed, frightened sound out to their tiny hallway that led to the living room.

What he saw broke his heart.

Kain was huddled, knees draw to his chest, fingers clutching desperately at his hair. He had one of Jean’s t-shirts on—he liked to wear them to sleep—and he was engulfed in the white fabric, a little ghost in their home. He looked—god, it wasn’t like he was a big guy in the first place, but usually the million watt smile and the bright laughter gave him a presence. Now he just looked…small. Beaten.

“Hey,” Jean said, hushed, and he made his way slowly over. But as soon as Kain realised he was approaching, he was scrambling backwards, sliding against the wall.

“No, no, don’t, just—go back to bed Jean,” he said desperately. “You can go back to bed, I’ll be fine. I’ll end up hurting you, I’ll be fine.”

“Kain, you won’t, that wasn’t your fault.” But still, Jean stopped his approach. “It’s not your fault.”

“I—you’re already hurt, I just made it worse.”

“No, babe, no, you make me better,” Jean said immediately. Fuck, what was he supposed to do? Kain was looking at him with these huge, terrified eyes, and Jean just wanted him to stop hurting. No one deserved to look like that, especially not Kain. Kain made flower chains to decorate the office, for fuck’s sake. Kain, who was an absolutely adorable kitchen disaster. Kain with the odd socks and weird caffeine addiction. Kain Fuery, who was woven so close in the fabric of who Jean _was_ , now—so help him—that it killed him to see Kain like this.

“I hurt you,” Kain insisted, so, so quiet.

Jean couldn’t stay away anymore, and moved towards him. “Kain…”

“I hurt—“ Kain stuttered, the words dying in the shadows. He was close enough to touch now, so Jean raised a hand slowly, and settled it on Kain’s shoulder. Kain looked up at him with those hurt eyes, hair all spiky from his hands yanking at it. Gently, Jean swiped his thumb across the bit of skin lying just under the collar of Kain’s shirt, soothing.

“I’m right here,” he said hoarsely. Kain’s muscles were tight, vibrating tension, beneath Jean’s fingertips. “We’re home. We’re safe now.”

“I know.” Kain’s voice was thick, and turned to lean his head against Jean’s arm with a choked breath. “I’m sorry. I know we’re okay now, but I still hurt—I’m sorry.”

“Kain, it’s okay,” Jean said softly, and now he cupped Kain’s cheek, tracing the shell of his ear. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I just…I got confused,” he said. “I thought you were in Aerugo with me, but it …” Kain swallowed, and fell silent.

Oh. Aerugo.

It had been two months since they’d been back, but they’d never…talked about it. Stepped around it, when Kain had bad days, or bad nights, but they’d never actually discussed it, or worked with it. Jean had avoided it, not wanting to push anything. This thing with Kain was still so new, and things over the past year had been so insanely shit that they were still working out how to fit together and be back to something normal.

But maybe not pushing had been worse for Kain than Jean had thought, he realised guiltily.

“You wanna…talk about it?” he asked.

Kain shuddered beneath his hand. “It’s…it wasn’t that bad. I’m fine.”

Fine was not sitting in their hallway at ass o’clock in the morning, head aching from the lack of sleep. “Looks kinda bad from my end,” Jean said, but he kept his words soft, and his fingers were gentle as they fiddled with Kain’s hair.

Still, Kain shook his head. “You’ve got your own—I don’t want to make you worry.”

Oh, it was _way_ too late for that. Jean would’ve snorted if he didn’t think it was kind of inappropriate. So instead, he leaned forward a little, moved so he could plant a kiss gently on the crown of Kain’s head. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Kain, I…I can’t know what you went through, but you know I’ve got you, right?” Kain looked up at him, and Jean would have done anything for him to stop hurting. “If you need anythin’, _anythin_ ’ at all, I’m here.”

Jean could still hear the way that Kain’s breath was stuttering into the air, before he dropped his gaze from Jean’s to stare at his shirt instead, fiddling with the hem. He turned to lean against Jean’s leg, and Jean brushed his lips over Kain’s hair again, and hoped that Kain could figure out what Jean wasn’t saying. That he was home, he was safe, and Jean wasn’t ever going to let him go.

It was a while before Kain spoke again. “I didn’t want to go,” he said eventually, words quiet, small, and so, so brave. Jean’s hand tightened around the arm of his wheelchair, but he kept the fingers in Kain’s hair gentle. Jean felt the same anger that he had felt when he’d first learned that Kain had been sent south, the same fury because some shithead had decided to send Kain to war to play stupid games with them.

“I hated it there,” Kain continued, and swallowed. “I had a friend,” he said, voice hoarse and choking, and Jean felt an almost painful pulse of his blood at the past tense. “His name was Phil and just—he was really _nice_ to me. He was just really decent, and…he reminded me of you. A bit. And I was down there and missing you so badly, so when he died it just…”

Kain trailed off, and buried his face against Jean’s leg, breath ragged and broken. “I’m here,” Jean said softly, and he leaned forward so he could loop an arm around Kain’s shoulders and hold him closer. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Kain shuddered against him. “It fucked me up.”

Yeah. Jean could see that much. “I’m sorry.”

Another shuddering breath. “It was just so _pointless_. Everyone just kept leaving. I’d been eating dinner with them one night and then they…wouldn’t be there. I walked away from some of them,” he said dully. “When they were killed. I turned my back and left them. I got Phil’s tags, but then they started firing so I just…left him there.”

“They wouldn’t blame you,” Jean said, because even though he didn’t know these strangers, he knew that Kain would’ve only been kind to them, and that he probably waited ‘til the last moment before he left his friends. Because Kain had grabbed the dog tags off some guy he’d met for a couple of weeks when he should’ve been running, because that was who Kain was.

“But I—” Kain let out a choked noise.

“Come here,” Jean said roughly, and he pulled Kain closer, tried to give him as much warmth as he could. “They wouldn’t blame you, Kain. You did what you could.” The words tasted bland, sticking in his throat like cardboard, but what else was there to say? “I’m here,” he murmured. “We’re home. We’re okay.”

Kain didn’t say anything else, so Jean just held him closer. “You’re amazing, all right?” Kain shook his head, and Jean couldn’t have that. “No, I’ve known you for years now, I _know_ you, okay? I’ve got you,” he said quietly, and it broke his heart that Kain was still shaking against him, was still taking those shuddering, rasping breaths.

So he just held him. Pressed another kiss to Kain’s hair, tightened his grip on Kain’s shoulder, and murmured quiet words of comfort. Kain didn’t seem to want to say any more, so Jean let him have his silence. He just kept speaking softly, feeding quiet words to love Kain, because Kain deserved so much, and Jean would give as much as he could to have Kain happy.

Gradually, Kain’s breathing slowed, and he shifted his position on the floor, his hand coming up to hold Jean’s still resting on his shoulder. Jean didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there, but he was glad that it wasn’t too cold, otherwise he would’ve been freezing in his boxers. Still, it wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Kain was a fucking freezer most of the time—he _always_ complained about the cold—so he was probably starting to get cold in only Jean’s shirt.

“Back to bed?” Jean asked gently.

After a moment’s thought, Kain shook his head. “I don’t…think I can. You should, though.”

Like hell he’d leave Kain alone to just wait out the rest of the night. “Nah, I’m good.” He blew out a breath, and realised Kain’s glasses still sitting in his lap. Slowly, he unfolded the little frames and gestured with them. “C’mere.”

Kain blinked, before he tilted his head a bit so Jean could push his glasses on. When he drew back and stood up, he made a face, nose scrunching a little and that adorable, tiny frown, as he adjusted his glasses. Once they were settled, Jean held out his hand, and still a little hesitant, Kain took it. It still amazed Jean, how nicely Kain’s hand sat in his own. Gently, gently, Jean kissed each knuckle, not missing how Kain was still trembling a little.

“C’mon,” he said, nodding towards the kitchen, and settling Kain’s hand on his shoulder. “How about you grab a blanket, and I’ll make us somethin’ warm to drink?”

Kain was still, and the shadows played over his face so that Jean couldn’t really make out his expression. But he was looking at Jean, his hand resting lightly on Jean’s shoulder, and there was a long moment of silence.

“How about it?” Jean prompted, but Kain was still just…looking at him. Maybe he still needed some time to calm down, so Jean relaxed a bit and—

“You know I love you?” Kain said, which, whoa, Jean had not been expecting right now. It was so soft, and matter-of-fact, and the fondness in Kain’s voice sent a blush racing to Jean’s cheeks.

“I—do you want that drink or not?” Jean demanded, a little helplessly, because _fuck_ , Kain could get under his skin like no one else. It wasn’t like they hadn’t _said_ it before, Kain had told him before they’d even started this dating thing. But it was still…weird, okay? In a good way, but still weird that all Jean had to do was to keep being himself and doing whatever Jean Havoc shit he usually did, and Kain would think the world of him.

He was _very_ glad that it was still dark, so that Kain couldn’t tease him about how pink his cheeks must have been. But Kain laughed—low, and a little weak, but it was there—and if all Jean had to do was get embarrassed by something to make Kain laugh, then…it was worth it. “A drink sounds nice,” Kain said, and now his voice was a bit lighter, and fond.

“Then go get the blanket, I’m cold,” Jean complained. He flicked on the kitchen lights, blinking at the brightness.

Kain squeezed his shoulder gently. “All right, all right. I’ll go get your blanket.”

“Y’better,” Jean said with a scowl, but he didn’t mean it.

There was a soft smile on Kain’s face, and it relaxed the tights chains around Jean’s heart more than he had thought to see Kain smile again. To see Kain look okay again—worn, tired, but okay. And when Kain squeezed his shoulder once more, Jean let his scowl relax and smile back, and Kain padded off in the direction of their bedroom.

Jean watched him for a moment, but then started navigating their cabinets to pull out a saucepan, the remainder of a bottle of milk, and the box of drinking chocolate that Al had given them last time he’d been around. The kid had shown Jean how to mix everything together to create brown, frothy goodness, and for some reason Kain was weirdly addicted to it now. And knowing what Kain liked, Jean went ahead and dumped about five spoons of the powder into Kain’s mug as the milk boiled, keeping his own drink down to a more respectable amount.

He was just pouring the steaming milk into their mugs, the brown blooming to fill the milky white, when Kain came back. He’d slipped into a worn sweater, a blanket bundled in his arms (and the way he struggled with it was way too cute), and he dumped one of Jean’s owns shirts in Jean’s lap when he walked over.

“Smells so nice,” Kain said, yawning as he watched Jean stir the chocolate through.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’ve got some weird love affair with it,” Jean grumbled, tossing the spoon in their sink.

“Mmm.” Kain hummed, and Jean tilted his head so Kain could kiss his forehead. Forehead kisses were nice. Not that Jean would ever say so. “Almost as much as I love you.”

Mouth curling into a wry smile, Jean shrugged into the sweater in his lap, and gestured at the blanket. “Gimme that, you take the drinks. And I’m pretty sure you’re just keepin’ me around to cook for you,” he said as they made their way out to their tiny living room. It was still dark outside, and the wind rattled some tree branches against the window. But it was quiet, and despite the weird hour and the reasons why they’d woken up, Jean felt really content when they both settled into the couch, warm against each other and sipping their drinks quietly.

Kain huddled up against his side, and Jean looped an arm around his slim shoulders. He was so _small_ , and Jean just wanted to protect him to the ends of the earth. “You know I’d pretty much die of starvation if you weren’t around,” Kain said fondly, and turned to kiss Jean’s arm.

“Guess I’ll have to stick around then.”

“I do know how to fry an egg now.”

“You’re right, I did teach you that.”

“And your chicken soup.”

“My mum taught you that one.”

“But apart from that, I’m pretty much useless.” Kain sighed. “I guess I might have to keep you around.”

“Guess you’re all right,” Jean said, grinning, enjoying how Kain nuzzled further into his side.

“War rations sucked a bit,” Kain said quietly.

Ah. So it was still on his mind.

Jean made a vague noise of acknowledgement, and just drew Kain in closer, to let him have the quiet if he needed it. Or to give him the chance to speak, if he needed that too.

“I did miss you a lot,” Kain said softly, in between sipping his drink. “When I was down there.”

“Mmm.” Jean turned his head so he could kiss Kain’s ear, and he did so, getting a slight huff of laughter from his boyfriend. “Me too. The hospital was awful quiet with you gone.”

“Hawkeye didn’t keep you entertained?”

“Well, she kept an eye out for me, that’s for sure. But no one else reads me shitty adventure novels like you do.”

At that, Kain laughed. “I had to cheer you up somehow,” he said. “You looked…you _were_ really sad.”

Though Jean hadn’t really thought about Kain like that back then—he couldn’t, not with the job and Lust and all that other shit—he was _very_ familiar with the need to make sure his boyfriend was happy. It was kind of a priority now, and Jean nuzzled against Kain’s ear, knowing that Kain would laugh quietly and pretend to be annoyed, which he did. “Yeah, not complaining. I appreciated it. Only stories Hawkeye ever gave me were about Hayate, and they just made me miss you more.”

“I love that pup,” Kain murmured absently, before shipping at his cup again. Fuck, he was adorable, and Jean was so fucking in love. Kain had both his hands wrapped around the mug, his glasses were steaming up a little, and his hair was a disaster.

“Hey,” Jean said, setting down his own cup. “Put that down for a minute.”

Kain blinked at him, but obeyed. “Why?”

“Just gotta—“ Jean wrapped both his arms around Kain and _squeezed_ , forcing a squeak out, and then Kain was laughing and struggling against Jean’s hold.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” Jean growled, and landed a sloppy kiss on Kain’s ear, grinning wildly. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was making him a bit loopy. Oh well.

Kain laughed, and fuck, it was good to hear it. It was light, easy, and damn did it do Jean’s heart some good to know that _he_ had been the reason behind it.

“No, you,” Kain protested, hugging Jean back. They swayed a little, Kain’s face pressed against Jean’s chest, and Jean lifted a hand so he could run his fingers through Kain’s hair, cupping the back of his head. It still amazed him, sometimes, how right this felt. Kain was just so… _good_ to him, and it was weird how unexpected it had been. Maybe it was their work which meant that they had to have complete trust in each other anyway, so slipping into this…thing of theirs ( _being a unit, laughing together, butterflies that lifted Jean’s heart to new heights_ ) hadn’t been as painful as Jean had always found dating. They had known each other for years, after all, and, well, they were friends more than anything.

Becca would laugh at him for the mush, but he knew she saw how much happier he was than he’d ever been. The mush was probably better than everything that had gone before.

(“ _Really, Jean, you had to go find an_ immortal _girlfriend?_ ”)

“I love you,” Jean said, and he meant it.

Kain leaned back, and his smile was gentle as he looked at Jean and brushed his fingers along Jean’s cheek. “Love you back.”

Jean smiled, and kissed Kain’s fingertips, Kain watching him carefully. “Sometimes changes are good,” Kain said, and it was so quiet, Jean thought maybe the words were mostly for Kain himself.

Jean let go of Kain, and grabbed their drinks again, handing Kain’s mug back to him. Settling back into the couch, he leaned his head against Kain’s shoulder, and pulled the blanket up so it covered their knees a bit better. “Yeah,” he agreed, just as quietly. “They can be.” He let another mouthful of lukewarm sugar slide down his throat. “You’ve been a good one for me,” he said, in case it wasn’t obvious.

Kain’s hand grasped for him and squeezed in silent agreement. Lips brushed over Jean’s temple, and the quiet was filled with soft conversation, a warm body next to his, and the feeling of home as the world woke to the slow crawl of dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make me happy :D


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